


I See You

by Leabbott



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt, King Alistair, female inquisitor - Freeform, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3240296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leabbott/pseuds/Leabbott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unromanced Inquisitor visits King Alistair at his palace in Denerim for a week as a brief personal break from the Inquisition, and on her last night there she and Alistair spend all night talking on the balcony. Right before the sun crests the bay, however, Alistair asks her something personal, and her answer unlocks something inside of him that had been fighting to be free for a decade. </p>
<p>Originally posted on tumblr here: http://loganplaysda.tumblr.com/post/109212915398/i-see-you-king-alistair-x-f-inquisitor-sfw</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See You

“When you look at me,” Alistair’s voice came quietly at her temple, “what do you see?”

She sat up slowly from where she leaned against him, shifting in his arms to look at him sidelong. They had been sitting on one of the uppermost balconies of the palace for hours now, chatting the night away and sharing stories of their past until the sun just barely began to rise over the bay and their voices only barely betrayed the yawns they held back. This question, however, was different. Whereas before they were merely recounting their experiences at the behest of the other, Alistair now wanted something…more. She could feel it. There was an embarrassment to the glance he gave her that told her he had been contemplating asking this for a while now. With only slight hesitation she hiked up the skirts of her thin silk robe and nightgown and climbed over his lap to straddle his hips and look him in the eye. From her position she was just barely at eye level with him, the first licks of morning sunlight gliding past her shoulder and onto his face, making his eyes glint like amber held to a flame.

His blush deepened as she relaxed on top of him and he tensed, hands moving to rest on her exposed knees while hers reached up to cup his face. Tracing the laugh lines at the corner of his mouth with her thumbs, she studied him intently. What _did_ she see when she looked at him?

“I see a King,” She began simply, “powerful and even-handed; the most important man in all of Ferelden. Just and considerate, with a wisdom beyond his years, who tries to rule with the knowledge of the common man’s troubles and succeeds more than any man or woman who came before him.”

He fought to keep his face from falling, but didn’t succeed, and had to glance away, biting his lip. “I… I’m sorry. This was a poor decision. I should go.” Heart heavy, he moved to lift her off of him.

“Stop.” A firm hand on his chest pushed him back to his previous position and he did not fight back, glancing back at her with a furrowed brow. She studied him again, gently biting her lip as she took in his only thinly veiled expression of disappointment. “You didn’t let me finish.”

Embarrassment colored his cheeks for a second time. “My apologies. Please, continue.”

She smiled softly, hands cupping his face once more and thumbs circling the color the bloomed across his cheekbones. “There’s something else, though. Something more.” Her hands slid down beneath the collar of his heavy brocade robe, smoothing across his broad shoulders until it pooled at his waist. He shivered as the breeze picked up and ghosted across his skin, gently fluttering her hair towards him. “Beneath the King, there is a warrior, a Grey Warden and a Templar, with a strong heart and an iron will that is the driving force behind every decision that he makes. But more than that, his heart is tainted. And not by darkspawn.” Her hand rested on top of his soft linen undershirt over his heart. “But by survivor’s guilt. It plagues him; plagues every decision, every day. He believes he should have been the one that died atop Fort Drakon; he was supposed to be the one to sacrifice himself to slay the Archdemon. And it haunts him.”

Alistair swallowed hard, fighting to keep eye contact with her. The sun had just barely risen over the horizon and its rays created a golden halo around her wavy brown hair, her face shrouded in darkness. “What else?” His voice was hoarse.

Her hands slipped to the ties of his undershirt, gently loosening and pulling at the string until most of his chest was bared before her. “Beneath the warrior, I see a boy.” Fingers gently traced a long scar that travelled from his left clavicle to his right peck and disappeared beneath his shirt. “I see a scared, uncertain little boy who doesn’t understand what he’s done to get where he is today. To deserve what he has today.” Her fingers shifted slightly lower, to a small, shiny scar that indicated a knife puncture. “I see a boy who is lost and just wants to go home, but can no longer remember where home is. Home should be the palace, he thinks, but it isn’t. The palace is work, and duty, and shame and self-doubt.” Alistair merely nodded, unable to speak for fear of what sounds might come out. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched her lips move and blinked away the emotions pooling in his eyes, fighting hard to keep control of himself.

“Once upon a time, home was the open road. Home was travelling with friends to rescue a country he loved but never wanted to rule. Home was fighting darkspawn side by side with the only man who had ever been fatherly to him. That’s the only true home he’s ever known.” One of her hands came up to muss his hair out of its combed-back style, to fluff the front into the spikes that he had so fondly worn years ago. His eyes watered but he held her gaze, entranced.

“Before that, home was torture. Home was chantry verses and whaps across the hands for bad behavior and no laughing or joy. But no, it wasn’t home, it was punishment.” Her hands cupped his face again, soothing him as her nails gently scratched at his scalp at the base of his neck. His sigh came out choked and he clamped his mouth shut tightly as his lip quivered. “And beneath that scared boy in his chantry cot I see a sad, angry little boy cuddled with mabari hounds in a stable, crying himself to sleep because he doesn’t understand why everyone he loves stays inside while he must stay out here. He doesn’t understand how he could be screaming and yet no one glances his way.” Tears were streaming down Alistair’s cheeks now, and she gently brushed them away with her thumbs. “He doesn’t understand how even now he’s screaming and still no one sees him, no one tries. All they see is the King. No one bothers to see the scared little boy that lost his home and his family both, all on the day they crowned him.”

When she leaned forward Alistair was sure she might kiss him, but instead she tucked her head into his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck, threading her fingers through his honey blonde locks. His own arms encircled her waist and he held her to him hard, burying his face in her hair to attempt to hide the sobs that wracked his body. He felt stupid – more than that, he felt embarrassed and ashamed – for displaying his emotions so openly in front of the most powerful woman in all of Thedas when in truth it was none of her business. But slowly he felt the most astonishing wave of relief wash over him as he finally allowed his tears to fall unbidden into her shoulder.

She had sensed it all along, she realized, but hadn’t been able to put it into words until he had asked. The angry outbursts at nobles and family members alike when such a response wasn’t necessarily warranted; the reckless abandon with which he dueled her in the courtyard to the point of nearly severely injuring himself; the sharp comments he sometimes made in the quiet company of prospective suitors and noble allies; suddenly it all seemed to fall into place, completing the puzzle that was King Alistair Theirin with words that screamed “Somebody, _please_ , just see me.”

“I see you.” She murmured comfortingly in his ear as she continued her ministrations. He merely nodded, unable to form the words to thank her for releasing him from his misery. For the first time in over a decade he felt like someone understood him, the _real_ him, not the mask he wore each day to placate the gentry that visited him and the women that sought his hand.

“I see you, Alistair. I see you.” For the first time since the Blight, he felt he might be home.


End file.
